I was Regulus Arcturus Black
by that1chick98
Summary: "My name is Regulus Arcturus Black. Or, I suppose it was. Now, I am no longer what I once was. Alive, I mean. I'm probably confusing you, aren't I? Let me start over, at the beginning. The very beginning, as far as I'm concerned." We all know of R.A.B., the man who stole Voldemort's horcrux. But who was he? Why did he switch sides? Rated T for death and non-graphic torture.


**Hello, everyone! First of all, I want to say sorry to any of you who started reading my other story. I really hadn't meant for it to take me this long to post the next chapter. I just literally have had no free time whatsoever. Chapter two is in the making, and sometime when I actually get an hour to sit down and write, I swear I will post it, but I really can't even give you a time estimate. Again, I'm so sorry, and I swear I won't give up on it, it will just take me a long time.**

**Anyways, onto this one. I had to write a creative writing piece based off of HP for the Course that Must Not be Named, my Harry Potter class. This is the result. It is just a one-shot, but I figured it was better than nothing. It's not my best work, and I didn't put nearly enough time into it, but it is something. So yeah. Thanks to anyone who actually read this :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with anything to do with Harry Potter. I do, however, own my own words and any ideas that I didn't borrow from Jo.**

My name is Regulus Arcturus Black. Or, I suppose it was. Now, I am no longer what I once was. Alive, I mean. I'm probably confusing you, aren't I? Let me start over, at the beginning. The very beginning, as far as I'm concerned.

I was born to Orion and Walburga Black in 1961. My older brother was Sirius. We were heirs to one of the oldest and most well-known families in wizarding Britain. My parents prided themselves on being so-called "pureblooded". Anyone who was not of this status was below them, not even worthy to shine their shoes. This is how I was brought up. Once upon a time, I believed that muggleborn witches and wizards were polluting our kind, that they shouldn't even exist. I believed this with all that I was. Or so I thought.

Sirius, on the other hand, never conformed to this way of thinking. He spent his whole childhood rebelling against our mum and dad, their beliefs and their ideals. Naturally, this gave me the opportunity to become the "favorite child". It was easy, really. I simply had to obey their every command without question, and live in such a way that they would be proud of. Simple, right?

My life was good. Sirius went off to Hogwarts, leaving me alone with just mum, dad, and the family house elf, Kreacher, for company. He was sorted into Gryffindor house. Our parents were beyond furious, and I vowed then and there that I would be sorted into Slytherin house, that I would make them proud in ways that Sirius never had.

When my turn came, to go to Hogwarts and please my parents, I didn't disappoint. I was sorted into the beloved Slytherin house, and I immediately gained the respect of my peers, given my aptitude in classes. My cousin, Bellatrix, had graduated three years prior to my coming here, and she had been well respected in our house, as well. I quickly became the unspoken leader of the lower years in my house. Everyone recognized that I was of higher status than they were, and that I could ruin them if they crossed me. So naturally, I got pretty much everything I could ever want during my years at Hogwarts.

As I grew older, this didn't change. At school, I was practically worshipped by my fellow Slytherins. During the summer holidays when I went home, my parents welcomed me back with much enthusiasm.

My home life was soon filled talk of a certain man – a man that some believed wasn't actually a man, but the actual embodiment of darkness – who went by the name of Lord Voldemort. Though my parents never actually became Death Eaters, they supported and agreed with his ideals, that magic should be kept pure and should only be taught to those of a higher birthright, that we were born for greatness and power.

I admit, these ideals appealed to a part of me. The idea of being a ruler over the masses – being able to do whatever I wanted whenever I liked, to be the person in charge – it drew me in like a vortex. This would be so different from the life I had led thus far, the life where I did things only to please others, where I rarely made decisions for myself or did anything noteworthy.

So I did the only thing that I thought would get me what I wanted. I joined Voldemort's following. I became a so called Death Eater at the tender age of seventeen, the same week I graduated from Hogwarts. My parents were never more proud of me.

At first, as sick as this sounds, I really enjoyed it.

Of course, we weren't as bad at first. While we were still growing in numbers and in power, we still had to worry about wizarding laws and the aurors, and about Dumbledore. We didn't do anything too extreme back then, we were simply minor nuisances.

I would go out with some of my "friends" from school who also joined the ranks (I never really considered them my friends, simply people I put up with for propriety's sake and because they would do nearly everything I asked them to) and we would use minor magic on mudbloods, simple things like enchanting a doorknob to bite muggles' fingers or transfiguring their dogs into cats. Nothing that we could get arrested for, just things to mess with their brains a bit. We would come back and report to the Dark Lord, and he would find minor amusement in our tales.

Then one day, after we came back from one of our little traipses through muggle London, he seemed upset with us. That night was the first time of many that I felt the power of the cruciatus curse used upon me. The Dark Lord told us that we would feel it again tomorrow unless we used it on a mudblood first. He said we could not lie to him, that he would know if we were telling the truth or not.

That night, I had a mental struggle with myself. I never wanted to feel that kind of torture again. However… I wasn't sure I could live with the knowledge that I had put others through that kind of pain.

In the morning, after a sleepless night, I met up with the others. We went to a poor, downtown part of the city, and the four of us broke into a mudblooded family's house. We put up shields so that they could not escape. Evan Rosier raised his wand to the father, a man probably in his mid-fifties, and exclaimed, "_Crucio!" _

The man screamed in utter agony. I will never forget that sound, the sound of pure, unbridled, almost animalistic pain, the sound of a man who would rather die than experience the feeling he was feeling. I knew his pain. I knew exactly what he was going through, as I had had the same excruciating torture running through my veins the previous day.

Rabastan Lestrange was next. He smiled, he actually _smiled, _as he stepped in front of the mother, who was already screaming and crying out for her husband. The woman's cries were much like the man's, only higher pitched. I wished I didn't have to listen. When it was over, she lay panting on the floor, her face a contorted mess of tears.

Mulciber lay his wand on the youngest child, a boy no older than twelve years old. As I watched his body convulsing on the floor, his cries piercing the night, all I could think was 'what are we doing?' It seemed so wrong to me to be torturing women and children, for even though they were supposedly inferior to us, they were still living, breathing creatures who hadn't wronged us in any way. Watching and taking part in this was much like watching someone torture a dog to the edge of death. It was sickening.

After what seemed like a thousand years, Mulciber lifted his wand, freeing the boy from the terrible curse. I stood there, sweat beading on my forehead and dripping down my neck, my breath coming in short, swift pants. I looked at the last remaining mudblood. She was probably about sixteen, only a few years younger than myself, and she would have been very beautiful if it weren't for the ugly, terrified expression she was wearing.

Looking at her, something inside me broke. I couldn't make myself hurt her, even though I knew that I would be tortured in her stead that night, probably sevenfold for my cowardice.

I turned to my companions and said, "Leave us. I want to finish this myself. I'll meet you tonight."

They didn't look particularly pleased. I assumed that the sick bastards actually wanted to watch me torture the girl, that they actually wanted to hear her cries and watch her writhe on the floor in agony. But they knew that I was of higher status than they were, and that I could have them ruined if I wanted to, so they knew they needed to obey me.

After they left the room, I waited until I heard the back door close before I made a move. I said to the girl, "I'm not going to hurt you." I crouched down next to her and reached to wipe away her tears, but I stopped when she shied away in fear. Rocking back on my heels, I exhaled slowly and nodded.

"I suppose I deserve that," I told her. "But really, I won't hurt you. In fact, I am going to make you all forget that any of this ever happened."

That said, I stood up and pulled out my wand. I performed a quick memory charm on the little family and put their house back in order before leaving, not looking back.

That night, when the Dark Lord gathered his Death Eaters, he asked each of us in turn if we had done the deed that he had asked of us. Each said that yes, they had done it, and he moved on to the next. When he got to me, he said, "And you, Regulus?"

I tried to keep my face neutral, tried not to let him gather anything from my countenance denouncing what I was about to say. "Yes, my lord."

His jaw clenched and his cold eyes narrowed. "My, my Regulus. And I had had such high hopes for you. Not only did you disobey me, but you also have the gall to lie to me to my face!" He turned around, addressing the rest of the Death Eaters. "This man," he began, pointing to me. "This man was too much of a coward to lay a wand to a muggle girl! And on top of that, he even thought that she was beautiful! Can you believe that our Regulus went soft on a filthy mudblood?"

My mouth fell open in surprise. How on Earth had he known all of that? I hadn't said anything about it to anyone. I didn't have time to dwell on this, however, because the Dark Lord raised his want and performed the Unforgivable on me. After he was done, he beckoned each of my fellows in turn to raise their wands to me and do the same. I was put through the cruciatus curse more times that night than I could possibly count. It felt worse than Hell, and I can definitely attest to that, as I am now dead.

The next day, the Dark Lord told me that if I didn't go back to that house and murder everyone inside, then he would kill me. I am honestly sorry to say that I didn't even think twice. I went there and I killed all four of them, looked them in the eyes as their lifeless bodies fell to the floor.

It only got worse from there. We became soldiers, doing everything that the Dark Lord asked of us for fear that he would do unspeakable things to us. Some even grew to enjoy what we did, to enjoy the cries of muggles and blood traitors being tortured, of seeing the lights leave their eyes. It made me sick to know that I was a part of a group that did such unspeakable things, to know that I chose this and that there was no way out unless I chose death. And of course, I was too much of a bloody coward to die. I was a Slytherin, after all.

It went on like this for months. Slowly, we became bolder. We would do what we did in public, in the light of day, knowing that we were virtually unstoppable, that no one could stand in our way without dying a horrible death. People feared our very names, especially the Dark Lord's. I quickly grew back into favor with my master. I did everything he asked, so that I would never have to endure that torture again.

I, however, wanted to know where this was all going. I wanted to know what the world had at stake exactly by letting this man live in it. I began researching on my own in private. I had already learned at that time that the Dark Lord was obviously a very skilled Legilimens, so I taught myself the art of Occlumency. I couldn't let the Dark Lord know that I was onto him.

I knew that he often talked of how he would forever rule the world, both wizarding and muggle. I soon began to wonder if he could actually do just that: live forever. In my research, I began looking for ways that a person could do such a thing.

I kept coming up blank. As far as any of my sources could say, there was no such thing as an object or potion or spell that could make one live for eternity. Finally, I came across a book in the back of my family's library. It was covered in half an inch of dust, its pages torn and yellow and brittle to the touch, and the title was long since unreadable. I poured night and day over the book for three days before I knew that this was what I had been searching for.

I read of things of unspeakable horror in this book, including a specific type of very dark magical item. It was called a horcrux. This item enabled one to put a piece of one's soul into it, thus making the maker of the item become immortal for as long as the item housing the soul was intact.

I knew then and there that the Dark Lord was planning to create one of these items, if he hadn't already. I began looking for any signs or clues as to whether he had done it yet or where the object may be. I accomplished all of this while still in the favor of the Dark Lord, still doing unspeakable things to those that the Dark Lord deemed unworthy of magic and the power that comes with it.

One night about a year after I had officially been a part of this evil cult, as we servants sat at the feet of our master, he commanded that one of us offer up a house elf to be sacrificed for the cause. I saw this as what it was. I knew that this was my chance, and I jumped on it. As the others were looking around at each other with their eyebrows raised, I eagerly volunteered up my own personal elf, Kreacher.

When I came home, I ordered the elf to go with the Dark Lord and do his bidding, but I made sure to order him to return as soon as the Dark Lord was finished with him. You see, I knew that the Dark Lord would not be intending for the elf to live after he had seen what the Dark Lord was about to do. I, however, wanted the elf to report to me so that I could find the horcrux.

The elf reappeared in the middle of the night, soaking wet and quaking with fear. He was thrashing about and crying out as if he were being attacked by some invisible being.

I knelt next to him and tried unsuccessfully to calm him down. I was slightly panicked by this odd behavior, as this elf usually had a very calm demeanor. After a few minutes of this, I gave up on trying to calm him down and cast a stunning spell upon him so that he wouldn't hurt himself.

A few hours later when he came to, he was less panicked and was able to speak. What he told me was horrible. I nearly wished that I was able to remain in ignorance, but someone needed to try to stop that devil of a man, and if I didn't try, who would?

The elf's tale was horrendous. The Dark Lord had taken him to a cave. He forced Kreacher to shed his blood on a magical doorway opening into a giant cavern with a black lake inside. They sailed to an island in the center, where a basin filled with some sort of potion resided. The elf was forced to drink it, causing him to see terrifying visions and feel excruciating pain. Then the Dark Lord dropped a golden locket into the basin and refilled it with the potion and left, leaving Kreacher helpless and stranded on the island. The elf crawled to the edge of the water to try to drink, but hands reached up and pulled him in. I was certain that had I not commanded him to return, the elf would be dead by now.

I pondered everything that the elf had told me for a few days, being extremely cautious with my thoughts in the presence of the Dark Lord. I was absolutely sure that the locket was a horcrux, for what else would the Dark Lord go to such measures to protect? I needed to steal it from the cave and destroy it, or at the very least hide it.

One night when the Dark Lord was out of the country on some business or other, I went to the elf and asked him to take me to the cave. We apparated to the outside of the hidden entrance, where I took out my dagger and slit my own wrist, letting my blood drip onto the stone wall. The wall slid open, revealing a cavern of darkness.

The inside of the cave was pitch black and cold as winter. I squinted into the darkness and followed Kreacher to the edge of the lake, being careful not to touch the water. Kreacher and I pulled on a chain, dragging a glowing green boat up to the surface and toward the shore. We clambered in and the boat automatically began to move, heading toward the center of the lake, where I now saw an island resided. As we drew closer, I saw that there was a pedestal in the center of the island with a glowing green basin atop it.

When we reached the island, I said to Kreacher, "You must never speak of anything that happens here to anyone. I want you to leave me as soon as you have the locket and never return. I want you to destroy it. Do you understand me?"

When the elf nodded his assent, we got out of the boat and walked over to the basin, slipping and sliding over the slick rocks as we went. I summoned a goblet, knowing from what Kreacher had told me that I had to drink the potion. I lowered the goblet into the green liquid and filled it up.

I took a deep breath, knowing full well that it was one of my last. Then I lifted the goblet to my lips and drank. My brain immediately felt the effects of the potion. My mind seemed to go back through time, taking me through my very worst memories. I filled the goblet again and again, drinking the contents of each one.

Finally my racing brain settled into one memory… the one of that muggle girl. I saw her face as she cried out in fear for her loved ones, as she begged me for mercy, and as her dead body hit the floor, the lights gone from her once beautiful eyes. I subconsciously dropped the goblet as my own body fell to the floor, just as hers had done that night. I heard a voice saying, "No more! No more!" It sounded faintly familiar to me… Was it my own?

I shook my head, trying to come back to the present. I tried to pick up the goblet, my fingers slackening. I suddenly felt hands on mine, helping me support the goblet as I dipped it in the half-empty basin of potion. I opened my mouth and drained the cup, liquid dribbling down my chin. It burned slightly as it went down.

I could not get that girl out of my head, her screams echoing in my mind, torturing me beyond anything I had experienced before. I didn't even know her name, but this girl had changed much about how I viewed my life's works, how I viewed the cause I had dedicated myself so fully to once. I killed her. I killed her, because I was a coward. And now here she was, torturing me like I had her. I deserved this.

Faintly, I recognized through my musings that I was being force-fed that awful liquid. In the back of my mind, I knew that that was good – it meant that Kreacher was following orders. I don't know how long this went on. I honestly couldn't tell you. I just knew that I was finally getting what I deserved after all of the havoc I had caused others, the Hell I had put them through and the families I had torn apart.

Eventually, I realized that the foul liquid was no longer being forced down my throat. I hoped with all the mental capacity I could give that that meant Kreacher was able to retrieve the horcrux and leave the cave successfully. I knew that if that were the case, I was alone here in the dark with the beings under the surface of the lake.

I deserved to be down there with them, I thought. I knew that there was no possible way for me to escape this cave. I knew I would die when I came here tonight. And I was honestly okay with this. I had done so much bad in my life, and I really had no good lights to shine on my time here in this world. I hoped that retrieving this horcrux made up for at least a small sliver of that.

This all in mind, and still seeing the muggle girl in my thoughts, I crawled to the edge of the island and touched the water. Immediately, a ghostly white slimy human hand shot up out of the water and grabbed my own. I allowed it to pull me down, down, down, into the depths of the lake. More hands joined the first, assisting it in dragging me, their victim, to my death.

I watched as air bubbles floated up, seeking the surface, and I realized that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Maybe that's part of dying: realizing too late that you never really appreciated the little things in life until its way too late. I slowly closed my eyes, feeling my lungs scream for air. I didn't fight, I didn't struggle.

When I opened my eyes again, for the last time, I got a good look at the inferi who was pulling me to my doom. You cannot imagine my surprise when I realized that it was _her. _It was the muggle girl. I supposed that all of the people we had killed along the way had had to be disposed of _somewhere, _but I had never imagined that I would see her again, least of all here. It was fitting, I supposed. I had killed her, and now her body would kill me. It's funny how karma works, isn't it?

That was my last thought as a live human. Now, I'm not a hundred percent sure what I am. I know that my body is dead, and I know I have experienced Hell… or, at least it seemed like Hell to me. I'm not there anymore, though. I served my time, and now I am free to wander. I know my body is still an inferius under the water in that lake. But for some reason, I can still think.

I saw what happened after I was gone. I know everything about what had happened with Harry Potter. I was never more proud of my brother, Sirius, than the day he sacrificed himself for that boy. I only wish I had been able to do more to prevent all of the lifeblood that was shed. But I made mistakes. Such is life. Or death? I'm not really sure what to refer to anything as anymore.


End file.
